"Cindy" for Sandy: A CrossFit Adventure

I love a good challenge as much as the next person - so, yes, when one of my karate students invited us to CrossFit New Windsor to participate in a fund-raiser to help the American Red Cross help victims of Hurricane Sandy, I jumped at the chance.

Before today, I was only a little familiar with CrossFit - and that familiarity came from hearing a few folks discuss it in the grocery store once, seeing a bit of a CrossFit Championship Challenge on ESPN a few months ago and checking out a friend's pics and posts about it on Face Book. What I found out from CrossFit New Windsor owner Frank Volpe was that it's all about improving fitness. "It's where you come to learn how to move your body correctly," he said.

CrossFit workouts are designed to condition the entire body with a combination of plyometrics, weights and other exercises, taking what you can do - like the "Cindy" fund-raiser workout that involved a circuit of pull-ups, push-ups and air squats - for a specific amount of time. Individuals race against the clock to "get 'er done" and try improve with each workout. Improvement means an increase in work capacity which means fitness improvement as well. Sounds like fun, right? Believe me, it is.

Volpe says anyone can start CrossFit regardless of the kind of shape they are in or even if they've never really worked out before. Unlike p90X or "Insanity" workouts, trainers guide you through each exercise, focusing first on safe movement, then consistency of movement and finally intensity. But it still forces you to dig deep to beat the clock. And did I mention there is a different, female-monikered workout each day? "You'll never do the same workout twice," adds Volpe. "Our motto is 'get comfortable with being uncomfortable.'"

Whether crack-of-dawn (morning), after lunch, early evening or pre-prime-time workouts are your thing, CrossFit New Windsor has anywhere from three to six class times to chose from on weekdays and one each on Saturdays and Sundays. And, being so easy to get to from almost anywhere in the Orange County area (located at the Stewart Gym, 343 Sue Kelly Avenue in New Windsor at Stewart Airport - directly across the street from the Orange County Police Academy), there really aren't any excuses NOT to try a class (especially since the first one is free).

Head on over to Cross Fit New Windsor. You really will be glad you did.

Invisible Man

Yesterday on my way to the gym, I saw a young man - maybe a year or two older than my own son - sitting near the traffic light with a "Homeless - please help if you can" sign. He had no gloves and was literally shaking from the cold. And trust me, it was pretty cold here last night.

I only had a dollar on me, which I gave him, but I had already made up my mind I was coming back before he even thanked me. I went home, found a pair of gloves and a scarf stuffed in the closet from last winter and found a blanket we'd gotten years ago as a commemorative prize and brought them back to the traffic light. The young man was so appreciative. While we were talking, a woman drove up, handed him a bag and a $5 bill. He thanked her and told her to drive safely. As she drove away, he looked in the bag and almost cried when he saw what was in it. "I can't believe she brought me SOCKS!" he said as he slipped off his boots and put them on over the little ankle ones he had on. I can't tell you how humbling it was to watch this young man who had just told me he had no idea where he was going to be sleeping tonight get so excited over a new pair of long socks.

We talked for a few more minutes and he told me now he happened to be without roof overhead and out in the cold. His story was a simple one and could easily happen to anyone. One day he had a place to live and the next day he didn't - it really was just that simple.

I asked him what he needed and he said the most pressing things were the simple things: toothpaste, a folding toothbrush and clean boxer shorts (he wears a size 32). He used to have a tent where he would sleep when he couldn't find a shelter or other indoor place, but it had been stolen. It hurt my heart to think about how cold it might get tonight and how he might have to endure it with nothing but the little blanket he'd just been given.

Getting protein on a regular was difficult, he said, but what he misses most about not having a place to call his own was being able to take a hot shower and having a cold fridge in which to store food. "You have no idea how much I miss having a fridge," he told me.

In my head, I saw that young man's face - especially how cold it looked when I first saw him and how incredibly happy a small display of kindness from a passing stranger made it when the woman passing by handed him the socks - all night. The reality is that no matter his circumstances, he is someone's son and used to be someone's neighbor, classmate and friend. There's something incredibly tragic about that, I think.

If my own son or any of my neighbors, classmates or friends ever needs a helping hand from a stranger, I hope they get it, I really do.

You don't have to have a lot to be nice to someone. Kindness costs nothing but time. Spend some today.

Greetings from Snootyville!

Just got word from a co-worker that one of the parents of a client I work with considers me SNOOTY. I work with juveniles in crisis and this parent and I went to high school together 30 years ago. Not only was he a year older, but he was in none of the accelerated classes I was in nor was he one of the standout performers on the track team that I spent the other half of my waking hours on/around. If his definition of SNOOTY is 17-year-old me with my head burried in a book or training six days a week for hours at a time, then I guess I'm guilty as charged.

Here's the scenario: his kid is in a lot of trouble. Facing criminal charges for a pretty violent act he allegedly perpetrated, he also stands the risk of being removed from his home because the arrest for that crime violated his existing probation. Dad seems to think I'm not being supportive enough in court because I don't sit with the family while we're waiting to be called by the judge. I'm not an attorney, mind you, just a case planner trying to make sure he is doing all the stuff the court has asked him to do. But my day doesn't stop just because I'm in court waiting for the judge to finally make it to the bench for this one child. I've got other clients whose needs are just as important, which means I need to text and make calls to coordinate those schedules that I sometimes do in the down time we spend waiting around. It ain't all just about his kid, that's for certain.

Plus, his son has been extremely disrespectful to me in the past, even going so far as to curse me out in the family court waiting room in front of his mother and grandmother because I was telling him stuff about the consequences of non-compliance with the judge's orders that I guess he didn't want to hear. His mom didn't say one word about his behavior, either, other than a half-baked excuse tossed over her shoulder as she jumped up to chase after him.

As his son's Day of Reconning nears, I imagine my former school-mate's family is a little panicked over what might happen to their child. Perhaps I am the convenient scapegoat on whom to blame all that is wrong, who knows? I do hope the family gets what they need, which might involve he and mom stopping for two minutes and realizing that I'm not the one on trial, their child is. The professional that I am will always, always, always do whatever is necessary to assist the families I work with, but there comes a point that they must also be working with me. And their effort should at least match mine, as I don't think it is fair to ask me to go farther or work harder than you are willing to. Neither of us can do it alone. Man up and make your child do what he is supposed to: go to school, report to probation, drug treatment and work. Sitting back and letting him do what he wants will get you nowhere fast. Someone has to be the parent, here - and, as I don't live with him, it can't be me.

Rant over. Ms. SNOOTY signing out...

Pride and Prejudice

My son left this morning at 7:30AM to meet his friends at the train station. They were heading to the Pride Parade in NYC. He was very excited - as it is the first time he's attending ever. I, on the other hand, am a nervous wreck.

He's gone to NYC before with friends. He's even taken the train without me, too. But even though he is heading to one of the most tolerant cities in the world and it is 2012, I'm kind of afraid for his safety.

The reality is that the world is often not a nice place to those who are deemed "different" by societal standards. Besides ridicule and nasty rhetoric, physical violence can also be a reality. It doesn't take a heck of a whole lot to push a crazy, bigoted person over the edge, it really doesn't.

I know I hugged him goodbye, smiled and waved as he pulled out of the driveway to connect with his buddies, but I'll literally be on pins and needles until he pulls back in. Seriously.

He's almost 19. Is there an age or a point where the mommy worry switch gets flipped off? Sigh...

Legacy

This has been a heck of a year so far. I've lost several friends and acquaintances to breast cancer and several more to heart attacks and accidents. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, a call, email, text or Tweet would come about someone else's passing. The memorials and funerals have truly exhausted me, but they have gotten me thinking about legacy a lot more than ever.

My reality is this: I am a breast cancer survivor. Since there is absolutely no cure for this disease, the chance that it could come back with a vengence and take me away from my family is very real. Other than some meories and a few blog posts, what will be left of me after I'm gone? And what will those life left-overs say about me and what I did with my time here on earth?

The frineds whom I lost recently ranged in age from 21 to 65 years of age. Their legacies include their children, their writing, their advocacy and the promise of what life had in store for them had they been here still to live it. They leave behind husbands and wives, children and Internet sisters, girlfriends and parents, relatives and friends who all remembered them "when" - when they were alive and kicking, doing their thing and living life like they had all the time in the world. Sadly, they didn't. How will the memories of who they were live on?

A few days ago, I was asked to write a bio for a presentation this spring. I was warned that writing about myself can be difficult - which I already knew, but I really had no idea why until I sat down to write this particular bio. Most of the people reading it will know me from the world of martial arts, although the award is for teaching outside the dojo. The truth is that I'm more than just a teacher and a karateka, but if you only see me in a gi or behind the podium in a lecture hall, you'd be none the wiser. The difficulty in writing about all you do and all you are, I found, is all about what NOT to include. Who wants their bio to read like they are a superhero?

But isn't that what we all are? Nobody just does one thing all their life - be that world politics, a more mundane day job or heading a fabulous yearly fund-raiser/event. We're all much more of a multi-faceted entity than how we can describe ourselves to someone we're meeting for the first time.

So this is who I am: mom, wife, advocate for at-risk youth, college professor, karate student and instructor, track coach, former soccer coach, dancer, drummer, rabid Prince fan, editor, writer, publisher, photographer, track star, best friend, payer of tuition, chief cook and dishwasher, dog walker, cat litter scooper, blogger, dreamer - still, none of them completely capture my essence.

What I want people to know about me when I am no longer here for them to get to know for themselves is not the sound of my voice or my love of R&B. I want folks to know about my passion for doing what is right - be it in the dojo or with people who expect to learn something from me in the classroom or for folks who stumble across my breast cancer blog. I want people to know that I felt things while I was here - and that I tried my best to do something to help right as many wrongs as I could.

I've learned a little something from every person I've ever come in contact with, too. All of it - the good and the bad - have helped mold me into the person writing this today. As I learn more lessons, I have come to understand that I am still a work in progress - and I hope to be until the day I draw my last breath.

Thanks for being a part of my progress, dear reader. Thanks for letting me be a part of yours, too. But thanks mostly to the wonderful souls who have gone on. The facets you let shine were appreciated more than you could ever know.

Exodus: Piles of Stuff

My son will be moving to his new place in four short days. Located about five minutes from his college campus, his house will be the semester home to my almost 18-yr-old and two other college guys. Sigh...

I'm a planner by nature. Since he decided on the college he wanted to attend, I've been buying toiletries and other things he'll need for school a little at a time. Suffice to say that in late August, there is a big pile of bags, boxes and storage bins in the middle of his bedroom. I think he has enough body wash, deodorant and lotion to choke a small farm animal.

But as the time for the pending move draws closer, each trip to his room to add something else to the pile feels a little more melancholy. Part of it is the realization that my "little" boy is well on his way to adulthood. Part of it is the flashback to my own pile of college necessaries as my college move-in day drew closer. My parents had taken me shopping to get a little fridge, a stereo with a cassette player (don't laugh) and a typewriter, but it's only now as I get ready to untie the apron strings myself that I identify with what they might have been thinking as the pile started getting bigger. Did my mom ask herself if she'd given me everything I needed emotionally to survive in the world outside of our little town? Was dad secretly wondering if I'd remember to eat on a regular? Did they worry that I'd be a menace to my room and dorm mates with my quirky habits? Were they concerned that I wouldn't study but instead party like it was going out of style? I know all these things have crossed my mind in the last few weeks - and more.

Still, Friday will be here before you know it. And although I concern myself with the minutia of new towels and bed linen and making sure his new laptop is college-ready, I know I'll miss seeing him every day. I'm sure that drive back home after the last part of the pile has been transfered from his bedroom in our house to his bedroom in his new one will be a long and probably even a sad one. But I also remember making a "Temple U or Bust!" sign on a sheet of paper that I couldn't wait to stick in the back window of the van before we headed off to my college all those years ago - as well as the excitement/anxiety over what the future held that my pile created. I know my son is feeling that now, too. And I'm most happy about that :-)

Of course, I say that now. I very well may be in a tight ball, rocking myself to and fro on Saturday, though. Hey, don't judge...

As the Financial Abyss Looms...

Sounds like a soap opera title, right? Pity it is the sad state of affairs that is Capital Hill.

And sad it is. What's the big deal about the raising the debt ceiling anyway? Or I guess I should ask what's the big deal about raising it NOW? As it's been done at least 15 times over the last 20 years, it floors me that this particular congress is having such a hard time sorting it all out. And while the three sides point fingers at each other, most Americans I know are getting a bit PO'd by their posturing and whining - and getting to the point where they're ready to toss the lot of them and start from scratch.

It's like our elected officials have forgotten the very reason they are in Washington to begin with: to represent and protect the best interests of their constituents. But as the markets here and around the world hit the skids and the neediest of us all (the poor, elderly and disabled) may not get social security, ADFC and disability payments on time, they bicker. In their many television interviews, all of them have on their little flag lapel pins, though. I guess they don't want us to forget that they are true patriots, maybe.

Note to Congress: if the NFL owners and players can sit down at the table and work out their differences, you can to. Play ball!

Graduation Eve

Cap and Gown pick-up? Check!

Tomorrow is the day. At least it is supposed to be. As the ceremony is scheduled for outside and it is supposed to rain all day, graduation day may actually be Friday. They will once again try for outdoors then, but, since it is supposed to rain then, too, it might be moved to the auditorium instead. We'll be nice and dry, but the powers that be only give each graduate two tickets then instead of four. My son has two biological parents, two step-parents and three siblings. How that will work I have no idea...

I'm not stressing, though. I'll see him flip his tassel. cheer a little and cry a lot. It will be what it will be.

But no rain would be nice, though...

The First "Last"

This is the picture I took of my son this morning - his last day of high school. Kinda teared up a bit...

Tonight is his last high school performance ever. He's choreographing and performing in two dances. Pretty sure I will be bawling by the end of the second one...

Kind of a bitter-sweet time, here. Part of me is happy he's graduating and moving on to bigger and better things. Part of me misses the ages and stages we've experienced as he traveled from diapers to tying his own shoes, to dating and teen angst to licensed driver and soon-to-be college freshman.

Friday is his senior prom. OMG, I better run out and get some more tissues...

And So It Begins...

Yesterday, my son's updated Facebook status announced that his high school graduation was exactly one month away. Between now and then, graduation photos have to be purchased, announcements need to be mailed, the class yearbook has to be picked up, prom tickets have to be bought and the class ring ordered. Of course it will all get done, but that's just the stuff that PRECEDES the big day. There's still a whole host of other stuff to do between then and his "moving into the dorm" exodus.

Not really one to procrastinate, when I found a hanging laundry basket and a shower caddy today while browsing through one of my favorite area stores, I figured it might be a good time to get started. I must admit that I got a little choked up in the towel aisle because I remembered standing in the same store looking for a colorful Disney towel when he was taking swim lessons for the first time. Hard to believe that was about 15 years ago.

So now my son has a couple of things for college - including enough deodorant to choke a horse and a few towels bath towels. Other toiletries, sundries and necessaries will probably be picked up as I see them on display (and preferably on sale, if you know what I mean)...

I have a feeling that packing his stuff into the car and moving it into his dorm will either be the one of the easiest or the absolute hardest things I'll ever have to do.

Putting the Union Ave Y on Blast

For those of you who don't know, I have been studying karate for the past six years. Although I put up my dukes regularly in training and when I compete in tournaments, two weeks ago, I had my first physical confrontation ever - and it happened at my work place.

Because my son's college tuition deposit to whichever institution of higher education he chooses will be due in four short months, I've taken a few side gigs to help squirrel away a couple of extra dollars to pad the 529 account that took a bit of a hit when the economy dipped. My morning job is a before-school program for parents whose work hours start before their children's school days do. For two hours each weekday, I play board games, draw and read to/with a few kids before their school days begins. Our time together ends when I drive them from the activity center we meet in to their bus stop.

Two Tuesdays ago, my own son missed his school bus. Dropping him off at the high school made me 10 minutes late getting to the activity center. When I arrived, a very angry parent who almost never drops his kids off at all or that early was waiting. The two kids - ages 8 and 5 - were just inside the door while dad was outside with a cell phone stuck to his ear. I pulled up to the door and waved to him before lowering my window and apologizing for being late. Before I could even tell him why, he started screaming at me, called me a bitch and told me that since he paid a lot of effin' money for the program - and hence, paid my salary - I should effin' get there on time. He then walked over to my car, stuck his finger in my driver's side window to wave it in my face and continue to berate me for jacking up his day - all while his children watched from about 10 feet away. I asked him if he would please move away so I could back my car into a parking space, but he refused and actually moved to the back door of my vehicle, stuck his foot under the rear tire and dared me to move. Yeah - exactly...

It occurred to me that I had three choices at that point: run over his foot, get out of the car to try out a self-defense combo I learned the night before or chill and figure out how to get this idiot away from me as fast as possible. I put my window up, locked my car doors and reached for my phone. Calling my boss was my plan, but, probably thinking I was either calling 911 or getting out of my car to move him out of the way when he heard the locks click, Angry Dad motioned to his children, got in his car and drove off. I was so upset, I was literally shaking.

After I calmed down and called my boss to let her know what happened, I contacted my karate sensei. He assured me that I did the right thing by avoiding a conflict and advised me to let it go and move on. Like me, Angry Dad had choices - and he chose to walk away. Had he taken a different route, I knew what to do to defend myself my sensei said.

The defensive art that it is, karate has a famous saying about there never being a "first strike." I totally believe in that, but I hafta tell you that I felt very vulnerable sitting there waiting for Psycho Dad to either stop the foolishness or make a definitive move. I did feel threatened, but there wasn't really anything I could do about it - and I also felt how easy it is for a "situation" to spiral out of control. Everything happened so fast! I just keep thinking now how easily it would have been for him to reach into the car to grab, hit or even spit on me and I get chills.

As soon as I left, I went right to the Y and spoke to my boss' boss so he could hear what happened directly from the source. The executive director assured me that employee safety was a priority was paramount and that someone would be speaking to Angry Dad as soon as possible. That was on Tuesday. On Friday, the executive director met with my boss and me to tell me that when confronted about his behavior, Angry Dad threatened to take his children out of the program, which would mean the program would not net enough income to stay open. To keep that from happening, the agency decided to move me to a before-school program location that was further away which I can't do, so I'm out until a closer spot opens up. That was almost two weeks ago and I'm still waiting, although I did report the incident to the police a few days later.

I'm writing about it here because of another adage: about being part of the problem if one is not part of the solution. This situation really transcends my personal safety; it's also about the well-being of the next employee that has to deal with the same irate morning program parent or any one who thinks yelling, cursing or blocking a path of escape is totally acceptable way to deal with life. In other words, it's not just about this woman, but about all women; not just about this person who was bullied, but about all people who are; not just about the ugliness directed at me, but about the nastiness directed at anyone. So, in addition to the police report I've filed, I'm filing an official grievance and may even take it further if a resolution that only reprimands me and not Angry Dad is not found soon. Letting this get swept under the carpet would be totally contrary to everything I try to teach my martial arts students and to what my instructors have tried to teach me.

And no, I no longer have any desire to work for an agency that puts the monetary above the well-being of its employees, but if I don't speak up, who will?

Stepping off my soap box now...